Borrowed Glimmer

The bus station light,

sickly fluorescent,

caught him just so.

One eye, flat, almost too blue,

a disc of reflected glare,

held the light steady.

Didn't blink, didn't shift.

The other,

brown, a little watery,

creased at the corner,

moved, watched the passing traffic,

registered something.

The real one,

the one that knew how to get tired.

It made me think

of all the parts we carry,

the ones we were born with

and the ones that are

just trying their best

to pass for real,

under the harsh, unforgiving light.